In the Bleak Midwinter (42 page)

“I had a penlight in my snowmobile suit. Always carry backup equipment when you’re in the woods. As soon as I’d assessed the situation, I stopped chasing after you and headed straight for my snowmobile.”

“But… your feet…”

“Were damn cold by the time I reached my friend’s cabin. However, I was wearing insulated hunting socks. Next time you try to cripple someone, make sure you leave him with bare feet. Better still, just split his head open.”

“Sir, my objective was to slow you down, not to kill you.”

“Stupid objective. The only way to deal with an enemy is to take him out. Period. Otherwise, you’ll never know when he’ll jump back up and bite you in the ass.”

“Like Darrell McWhorter?”

His face crinkled in disgust. “Slimy bastard. Called me up and said he’d tell the cops about Wesley and his daughter if I didn’t pay him off. Ten thousand dollars. He thought Wes had killed her and he was still willing to overlook it for money. What a scumbag.”

A raven flew past the bridge, cawing loudly. She took another step along the railroad ties. “How did you persuade him to come with you to Albany, sir?”

“I told him I’d pay if he’d collect any telltale evidence from the girl’s apartment and hand it over. I knew he’d jump at the chance to find something more substantial to hold over my head.” He gave her a look that invited her to agree that the late Darrell McWhorter was an idiot. “I planned on getting rid of him in Albany; as it happened, a better opportunity presented itself.”

“So that was you who rifled through Katie’s things.”

He tucked his head in assent. “With some of last year’s Halloween costume stuck to my face. Crude, but effective.”

From below, Clare could hear the flat lapping of the river against its rock-and-snow-covered banks. Would dropping Cody in also qualify as crude, but effective? She glanced at the bundle in Fowler’s arm.

“Oh, he’s alive. The little bastard fell sound asleep in my truck, can you believe it?”

“What is it you’re looking for here, Colonel? What outcome are you after?” She let a note of challenge creep into her voice. “Wesley’s already off the hook for the murders. What do you hope to accomplish out here?”

“I’m trying to save my son from himself. He’s already fumbled badly, getting that girl pregnant in the first place and then not insisting she have an abortion. He was going to walk away from everything, just because she decided at the last minute she didn’t want to give it up. Can you believe that?”

Clare bit her lip. “There’s no chance of that now, though, is there? You took care of that.”

“You mean the girl? I didn’t set out to eliminate her. If she had just taken the money I’d offered—Christ, she could have paid her way through the state school and had a nest egg left over! She was too stupid to do what was best for her.”

“Some people might say she was too principled to trade money for her child.”

“Bullshit. She saw an opportunity to trap a boy from a decent family who could be counted on to earn a good paycheck.” He glared at her. “If Wes had quit school to marry her, if he takes on her—” he glanced at the blankets in his arm, “—kid, he’d regret it for the rest of his life. I’m not going to let that happen.” His face tightened. “Wes is still too soft, yet. It’s up to me to protect him.”

“By killing his son and sending his father to death row? Do you really think that’s going to protect him? That he won’t regret it for the rest of his life?” She stepped toward Fowler, never taking her eyes off him, feeling out the ties through her boots. “Wesley’s ready to sign the boy over to the Burnses. He told me so himself.” She balanced on one leg, bumping her other boot against a wooden tie until she had a foothold. “He’s a good kid. Sensitive, responsible, caring. You can stop this right here without damaging him any further.” She stretched out her arms. “Give me the baby. The other two you… eliminated, those were on the spur of the moment, unplanned, right? That’s manslaughter. You can plead to diminished capacity or temporary insanity or… or… something.”

She kept her arms open. Her chest and throat ached. From a distance, she could hear the sound of a motor. A snowmobile, maybe. She wanted it to be help. She wasn’t up to this. She couldn’t do this all by herself.

You aren’t all by yourself
, the thought came, from inside and outside all at once. She breathed in sharply. “Give me the baby, Colonel. Don’t burden the rest of Wesley’s life with the knowledge that he was the reason you did this terrible thing.”

He frowned, pressing his lips together. Considering. Poised between two ties, she held herself absolutely still, arms burning, reaching.

Behind them, the sound of an engine cut through the air. Fowler looked past her. “Ah. Reinforcements,” he said. He hefted the blanket-wrapped parcel higher.

Clare couldn’t look back. She heard thudding doors and the faint squawk of a walkie-talkie. “They don’t change anything,” she said. “This is still your call.”

“Vaughn.” Russ’s voice was measured, temperate. The sound of it was like seeing the landing lights at the end of a long night’s flight. “How ’bout I walk onto this bridge and we all try to resolve this situation?”

Fowler raised his bundle higher. From within the blanket, the baby began to cry, short, sharp squalls demanding attention. “Stay where you are, Chief, or I toss this into the kill.”

“No!” Clare’s hands clutched around empty air. Beneath them, she heard the motor coming closer, a spluttering roar.

“You’re not going to walk away from this, Vaughn. That’s a police boat covering the water. The state troopers will be moving men in on the other side of the kill, and they’re going to be bringing a sharpshooter with them. Give the baby to Clare, and let’s all get out of the cold. Your son is waiting to see you. He’s worried sick about you.”

Fowler shook his head. “I didn’t plan to walk away from this, Chief. I knew when I moved decisively to save my son from dropping out and marrying that trailer trash that I would have to be an acceptable loss.”

“No. Colonel.” Clare moved forward another shaky step. “Think what you’ll be doing to your family.”

“I have. I’m saving them the embarrassment of a trial and incarceration. Don’t you think I considered how this would look? No one understands sacrifice these days. No one appreciates what it is to put your duty to your family or your service first.”

In her peripheral vision, Clare caught a glimpse of the boat, motoring slowly upstream toward the bridge. She took another step. Fowler began to unwind the blanket from the wailing infant. She knew, at that moment, he would toss Cody into the kill, no matter what they said or did. She unzipped her parka and peeled it off. “Give me the baby, Colonel,” she said, holding out her coat. “You can put him right in here.” She balanced on a single tie, feet together, pressing down on the back of one rubber boot. “I promise you, I’ll see that the Burnses get him. He won’t interfere with Wesley’s schooling ever again.” Her stockinged foot slid free. She wavered, one-legged, almost losing her balance. She didn’t take her eyes off Vaughn Fowler’s face.

He looked down at the angry baby kicking in the crook of his arm. “He’s such a responsible kid, that’s part of the problem.” Clare found her footing again. Her toes curled over the edge of the tie as she lifted her other leg and shook the boot free. It hit one of the ties and fell off her foot. A moment later, she heard a splash.

“Give her the baby, Vaughn, and let’s get out of here. Your son needs you.” Russ’s voice sounded much closer now. She could feel him, radiating strength and reassurance, almost close enough to reach back and touch.

Vaughn drew a deep breath, as if savoring the taste of the air. “Wes is the fifth generation of my family to attend West Point, did I tell you that?”

Clare nodded. “Yes, sir, you did.”

He looked into her eyes, soberly, measuring. “It’s a good thing to live as a soldier.” With a shrug and a twist of his arms, he tossed Cody over the parapet.

Russ shouted, “Get down, Clare!” as the parka tumbled from her arms. She went over the side before she had a chance to think about it, her shins scraping the iron, the wind tearing up her eyes and blinding her, and then she was under the water, and it was cold, cold beyond any definition of cold, burning her skin like acid. She followed her bubbles up to the pale sunshine, broke the surface, unable to breathe, the shock of it seizing her lungs. She heard yelling, a motor gunning, shots. It was hard to think, impossible to focus. She couldn’t see Cody. She gulped in air with a sob, forcing her chest to work, went under again. The boat motor throbbed through her nerves. Her body felt like one huge tooth ache. She spiraled through the clear water. There was a flash of white ahead, but when she broke surface, it was a clump of snow and ice. Someone was yelling her name. She went under again, the ache intensifying, although she couldn’t have imagined it could get any worse.

She saw him. Floating so near the surface his ice-blue sleeper was dappled with sunlight. She stroked through the water, kicking against the drag of her skirt, time slipping past her like bubbles, until she reached the tiny form. She surfaced again, hauling Cody up with her, holding his head out of the water one-handed while she tread in place. “Here!” she screamed. “I’ve got him! Here!”

The sound of the boat was everywhere, but she was still surprised when she turned and it was there; cutting engines, sliding alongside her. Hands reached out, so many hands, and she held up Cody and let him be whisked out of view. She reached for the side, but she was too weak to hold on. More hands grasped her, grabbed her arms, and she was hauled in like a fish, flopping and twitching on the bottom of the boat until someone tossed a thermal blanket over her and rolled her in it. Through the press of parkas, she saw a man half-dressed in diving gear recussitating Cody, his mouth covering half the baby’s face.

“Breathe.”

“For Christ’s sake, take us over to the shore so we can pick up the chief, he’s going to freeze to death.”

“Get on that radio to County Hospital, tell ’em we’re coming in with possible hypothermias.”

“Miss, I have another blanket. Can you get your clothes off under there?”

“What about the perp’s body? Are we fishing him out?”

Cody’s tiny fist jerked in the air. The diver pulled away, rolling the baby onto his side. Cody coughed, vomited up a stream of water, and began to cry. Everyone cheered except Clare, who squeezed her eyes shut against hot tears.

The boat bumped and scraped against rock. She opened her eyes in time to see Russ wading through the water. The boat tipped hard to one side as he heaved himself in. “Come back here, Chief,” the voice beside her said. “I’ve got a blanket for you. Jeez, you tore the hell out of your pants, didn’t you? What the hell were you thinking of? We had them.”

Clare focused on the man who had been helping her, and recognized Kevin Flynn. The engine kicked in again, pulling them steadily away from the shore, gaining speed as they motored downstream.

“Shove it over, Kevin,” Russ said, his voice thick. The young officer handed him a blanket and carefully shifted down the bench. Russ wrapped himself from the waist down and sat heavily. “Lyle, you notify the hospital we’re coming in?”

“I sure did, Chief.”

“Call the staties, let ’em know we’re going to need a diving team and a water search to recover Fowler’s body.”

“What happened?” Clare asked, her teeth clicking together.

“You mean after you did your swan dive? Fowler fired on me.”

“Oh, no. Oh no. Were you the one who—”

“No, my gun was still holstered. Mark was my backup. He’s a damn good shot.” He shook his head. “Fowler was hit. He went between the ties.” He looked at her, his eyes so deep she thought she could dive in and touch the bottom of him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“For Fowler or for Mark?” He raised a hand. “No, don’t tell me. I know. For both of them.” He took off his glasses and wiped them on a corner of the blanket. “When I saw you go over the edge like that…” He shook his head. “I took the fast route down by sliding down that goddamn slate embankment. My ass is going to feel that one for a month. ’Scuse my French.” He threw his arm around Clare and pulled her blanket-wrapped form tightly to his side. “Jesus Christ, Clare, what were you thinking of? Do you have any idea how fast you can die in water that cold? We had a diver standing by, for chrissakes.”

“I didn’t know it was going to be that cold,” she said, shaking uncontrollably against him. She jerked her chin toward the squalling baby. “It was worth it.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess it was.” He smiled a bit. Then he started to laugh softly.

“What?”

“Damn, I sure had you pegged when I said you jumped in feet-first without thinking…”

At twilight, the small parking area behind St. Alban’s was already filled. Well, he should have expected that on Christmas Eve. Russ parked in the lot across the street, collected his package, and trudged across Elm toward the Gothic double doors hung with wreaths. The pavilion in the square was glowing with Christmas lights and the shining windows of the last stores open, and for a moment he could have been back in 1962, when everything in his world was safe and understandable. Where businesses never closed and marriages were forever and no one ever died.

He shook his head at his sentimentality and hauled on one of the elaborately cast bronze door pulls. Inside the church, his glasses fogged over, blinding him. The smell of pine and beeswax filled the shadowy air. From the choir stalls a soloist was singing, then stopping, going back and repeating her phrase.

“Hey. Chief Van Alstyne. Are you here to help, too?”

He popped his glasses back on. A startlingly well-scrubbed Kristen McWhorter faced him, carrying a box of tall white candles.

“Kristen. Hi. I’m surprised to see you here.”

She jiggled the box. “Reverend Clare talked me into helping with the decorating. I’m sprigging the candles. Don’t ask.”

He grinned. “Okay. How is everything?”

“Pretty good. The funerals were hard. Hard to get through. But knowing what happened to her helped. I still haven’t spoken with Wes Fowler. Which I can understand. But I have been seeing Cody.” She smiled. “The Burnses have asked me to be a godmother, isn’t that cool? He’s going to be baptized here in January.”